My Thoughts For My Fears

"Flynn, you need to calm down," Clara said, trying and failing in vain to take his red pen from him. For the past fifteen minutes, Flynn had been throwing some kind of temper tantrum, snatching up a pen and scribbling scientific equations across the walls like an out of control toddler, his breath coming in short bursts, his hands shaking, making his writing unreadable.

"How can I calm down!?" Flynn choked out, his spectacles askew, knobbly knees knocking together. "We're trapped in the last bastion of civilization, our fading hope in the hands of a crazy Kiwi" –

- "I'm Australian, mate," Ezekiel corrected him, coolly peeling a banana.

"You have to get a grip of yourself," Clara said, grabbing Flynn by his tie, forcing him to stop scribbling. "I can't do this by myself!"

"This isn't happening," Flynn whispered, closing his eyes, "this isn't happening" -

- "It is happening, Flynn!" Clara cried, yanking his tie like a lead.

"No, it isn't," Flynn snapped, yanking himself free.

"You used to love this kind of thing," Clara said, the tears springing to her eyes, "you used to love" - She stopped, unable to finish her sentence, because he'd never said those three fatal words, and neither had she. Now it was too late for both of them. Flynn would never know how much she cared, how much she still did.

Flynn studied her for a moment, his chin wobbling threateningly. Exhaling sharply, he set the pen down, before straightening his spectacles. "I just want to go home, Clara," he said quietly, his voice cracking, "back to my books, to the life I know."

"Looks like you're on your own, kid," Ezekiel said to Clara, biting off a piece of banana.

"Think, Clara, think," Clara muttered, pacing the floor in circles, massaging her temples, "it's right in front of you, hidden in plain sight..." She glanced up at Flynn, her brow furrowing, making him back away from her. "Why did you not go to that interview?" she asked, advancing on him. "The one that was at the Metropolitan Library, the one you so stupidly skipped" -

- "Because I didn't want to," Flynn said pettishly, "I - I knew myself, what I was good at, where I felt comfortable."

"You gotta get out of your comfort zone some time though," Ezekiel said, frowning. "Otherwise, you'll just... stagnate."

"I'd rather stagnate than die," Flynn flared up. "It was my choice, and I chose it."

"We choose," Clara whispered, staring down at her bloodstained hands.

"What?" Flynn said, looking at her like she was mad.

"He cut history," Clara said in a monotone.

"Who whattted what?" Ezekiel said, chucking his banana in the bin.

Clara shook her head, only to see her skin no longer stained with crimson, the past retreating from her again.

"Wait up," Ezekiel said, eying Clara like she was a specimen he'd very much like to study, "who cut history?"

Clara just stared at him, startled.

"Okaaay... let's try another angle," Ezekiel said, circling her, "start from the beginning. Tell me how you ended up at the end of the world."

Clara sat down, not quite knowing where to start. Shakily, she recounted all that she could recall, Dulaque, the Annex and all that came after, Flynn, Jacob and his death, making the tears roll down Clara's face again.

"The Jake I knew preferred blondes, not brunettes," Ezekiel frowned, this piece of petty trivia irritating Clara.

"Maybe in that other timeline I decided that blondes had more fun," Clara snapped, angrily dashing away her tears with the back of her hand. "And anyways, the Jake I knew" -

- "The Jake I knew liked to dabble," Ezekiel impatiently cut across her, "he would flirt with anything that had a pulse."

"Is this argument going anywhere by any chance!?" Flynn interjected, holding up his hand like a traffic warden.

"No, it isn't," Ezekiel said abruptly, "but it serves to highlight what is absorbent co-efficient and what isn't. Dulaque, Clara and the Library are our three constants, which leads me to theorize they are what started this, and they are what will finish it."

But as he spoke, there was the distant sound of a door being broken down, a chorus of screams rising, making Flynn turn to Ezekiel, his face draining of colour. "Would you like to rephrase that last part about what will finish us off?" he squeaked, before falling down in a dead faint.

I turn my head, there's nothing there
All I own is my thoughts for my fears
I close the door to keep out the bad
I plug my ears to keep out these fears...